The surroundings were eerily quiet, with the wind lantern illuminating one side of the rock wall, enhancing the lighting. The dim yellow light cast on the rocks created an ancient and mysterious atmosphere.

The colors of the murals were exceptionally vibrant, with a significant amount of blood-red hue. Under the shifting light, they shimmered with a glazed brilliance, as if the entire rock was oozing blood. It was astonishing that the murals, hidden beneath another layer of paint, had been preserved so well.

However, what truly amazed us was the content of the murals. I found it difficult to describe in words what was depicted. The mural was divided into two parts, each recounting different events, yet when viewed together, they formed a remarkably complete narrative, truly breathtaking.

The monk Hua’s eyes sparkled as he murmured to himself, “This should be a scene from the war between the Emperor of Dongxia and the Mongols. Look at this person; he must be the Wanlu King himself. This is likely the legendary war during which Dongxia was destroyed.”

I knew very little about Dongxia, and the others were clearly not well-versed either, so no one spoke, allowing him to continue.

He moved back and forth in awe, examining the patterns above, pointing at one side of the mural where numerous soldiers clad in fur and armor were depicted, saying, “This is the army of the Wanlu King.” He then pointed to the cavalry on another side, stating, “This is the Mongolian army. Look, their numbers far exceed those of the Dongxia army; this was a decisive war.”

I looked in the direction he indicated and saw the scene of arrows flying. The chubby man glanced at it, seemingly puzzled, and asked, “Why do the faces of the Dongxia soldiers look like women?”

I found it strange too. Could it be that the Dongxia people relied on women in battle? That would be absurd. The monk Hua explained, “No, this is a characteristic of Dongxia murals. Look at all the figures; they are all very delicate and refined. I’ve also come across some peculiar phenomena in historical accounts; it seems that everyone who has dealt with Dongxia has said that in Dongxia, you never see old people. Everyone is very young. The Koreans say that even when Dongxia people die, they maintain their youthful appearance.”

The chubby man frowned, seemingly unable to comprehend why this was the case. I felt it might be related to the customs of certain ethnic minorities; in some cultures, the elderly are not allowed to meet guests. I shrugged it off and continued to look with the others.

Hua then pointed to the second part of the mural, saying, “This section records the battle situation. Look, the Dongxia people fought one against three, yet they were still continuously shot down by the Mongols. This war ultimately turned into a massacre.”

The mural used a significant amount of red to portray the brutality of the war. The sense of immersion was intense; I could almost see Dongxia soldiers falling in batches into pools of blood, while the Mongolian cavalry trampled over their bodies, beginning to burn houses and slaughter men.

The third part of the mural was pressed behind a massive stone, and we could not move it, but it was likely a continuation of the content depicted here.

At this moment, I felt puzzled and interrupted him, saying, “That’s not right. The Dongxia kingdom was destroyed by the Mongols long ago, wasn’t it? I read that they only existed for about seventy years and were constantly at war. If the Yunding Tiangong was built by them, how could such a small country have the capability to construct such a large-scale tomb under those circumstances?”

As soon as I said this, many people showed expressions of agreement. Dongxia was a regime that suddenly appeared during the period when the Jurchens were being exterminated, in the areas of Jilin and Heilongjiang. I remembered that its founding emperor, Wang Nü, didn’t even have time to pass the throne to the next generation before being defeated by the Mongols, who were at their peak of power at that time, mercilessly killing anyone in their path. If the scenes depicted in the murals were indeed from that decisive battle, given the Mongols’ nature, they should have wiped out Dongxia completely.

Moreover, during that time, the productivity among the various Jurchen tribes was still quite low, and there was no large labor force. Even if they hadn’t been exterminated, it would have been impossible for them to construct such a gigantic tomb.

What Chen Pi A Si said about the Dongxia emperor being buried in Yunding Tiangong seemed utterly impossible, as they neither had the time nor the capability for such an endeavor.

It was even more unreasonable to infer that this legendary tomb was built by Wang Cang Hai, as it should have been constructed during the late Yuan dynasty. By that time, the Dongxia kingdom had already been destroyed for hundreds of years, so there wouldn’t be any Dongxia emperor left to be buried.

We all turned our attention to Chen Pi A Si, as he was the one who claimed that the Dongxia emperor was buried in Yunding Tiangong. However, it now seemed absolutely impossible.

Chen Pi A Si knew what we were thinking. He glanced at the mural with an expressionless face, sneered, and looked at Master Hua, saying, “Since they don’t believe, Master, why don’t you explain it to them?”

Master Hua agreed and turned to us with a smile, saying, “I know what you are doubting. I dare say you are all mistaken. Most of the information you have regarding Dongxia is based on some incomplete ancient texts. In reality, the records left by the Dongxia kingdom are extremely scarce. Abroad, they even do not acknowledge that such a country ever existed, so it’s hard to say how much of the information you are looking at is actually true.”

The fat man said, “If that’s the case, what makes you think your information is correct?”

Master Hua replied, “It’s because our information is more direct.” He took out a piece of white silk cloth from his pocket and unfolded it in front of us. When I saw it, my heart skipped a beat.

It was the snake-eyed copper fish from the auction!

How could it be in their hands? Wasn’t it said that no one bought it? I furrowed my brows and suddenly realized something.

Since no one bought it and the fish was in Chen Pi A Si’s hands, could it be that Chen Pi A Si was the seller of this fish?

I was shaken and tried my best to steady myself, not letting my surprise show too much. But my mind was already in turmoil, with countless questions exploding in my head. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to feel fear or excitement; I just felt my hands and feet suddenly go cold as if all the blood had drained from them.

The monk Hua did not notice my expression and continued, “This bronze fish is a variant of the dragon, obtained by our old master through a stroke of luck. I believe it was made by someone who knew the internal situation of the Eastern Xia. The remarkable thing is that he cleverly concealed a highly confidential message within this bronze fish. Look here:”

He placed the bronze fish beside the wind lamp, and the gilded fish scales reflected a golden light, casting many fine spots of light on the mural. As the monk Hua turned the fish, the spots began to change. Gradually, they transformed into several characters.

“The secret is right here; there are a total of forty-seven Jurchen characters hidden within the scales of this fish,” he said.

I gasped inwardly, realizing that such a technique existed. Gripping the other two bronze fish in my pocket, I asked him, trembling slightly, “What… what does it say?”

“Because the information on it is incomplete, I haven’t fully deciphered it yet. However, I can be sure that the person who made this fish wanted to record certain events without letting others discover it. It documents the true history of Eastern Xia,” monk Hua said with a hint of pride. “In fact, even before I saw this thing, I had already deduced, based on many clues, that the regime of Eastern Xia has always existed; they simply retreated deep into the mountains. For hundreds of years, I don’t know what they relied on, but this extremely weak regime survived between the extremely powerful Mongols on one side and the covetous Goryeo on the other. I have studied the Goryeo records, and up until the establishment of the Ming Dynasty, there were still reports of ginseng gatherers seeing people in strange clothes moving around in the snowy mountains. I believe these were the remnants of the Eastern Xia’s population.”

He pointed at the bronze fish again and said, “The scattered records here prove my theory: after the Eastern Xia fought a decisive battle with the Mongols, they retreated to the border between Jilin and Korea, remaining hidden for hundreds of years, with a total of fourteen emperors. The Mongols and Goryeo attempted to destroy this small country more than once, but for some strange reason, they all failed.”

“What reason?” Panzi asked. “Monk, can you be more straightforward?”

Hua shrugged, “I don’t know. The information on the fish is incomplete; there must be other things that recorded other parts. However, based on the few characters I have, I dare say that for the Eastern Xia to have survived, some very bizarre events must have occurred, but the content ends there. We have been trying to find more, but unfortunately, our old master searched for many years without finding any other parts.” He paused and then said, “Do you know what the last sentence of these Jurchen characters means?”

I thought to myself, of course I didn’t know. Ye Cheng took it and asked, “What does it say?”

Monk Hua looked at us and said, “It says that throughout the ages, the kings of the Wanlu dynasty were not human.”

“Not human? Then what are they?” the Fatty asked.

Hua put away the bronze fish and said, “It says they are monsters that crawled out from underground!”

No way? I thought to myself, and everyone exchanged glances, likely feeling a bit uneasy. Ye Cheng asked, “But it can’t be that simple. Could it mean that the emperor is a dragon, not a human, as a metaphor?”

“I originally thought he was referring to a metaphor like the True Dragon Son of Heaven, but upon further study, I realized that this person probably just wanted to record some secrets. The historical account of Dongxia is quite objective, so he likely wouldn’t use such respectful language. Moreover, if it were as you said, do you think anyone would express the concept of the emperor as the True Dragon Son of Heaven in such a manner? Imagine if you were congratulating the emperor on his birthday and you first said, ‘Your Majesty, you are truly not human,’ I fear you wouldn’t even finish your second sentence before being executed. No one would write like that!” He smiled mysteriously, “Furthermore, the latter part of the statement is very clear and quite abrupt. I’ve always been concerned about it. If I could obtain the other parts, perhaps the meaning behind those words could be deciphered.”

The Fatty and the Silent Oil Bottle both knew that I actually had the other two copper fish in my possession, but out of caution, they didn’t say anything. I felt the copper fish in my pocket suddenly become heavier. For a moment, I didn’t know whether I should take out the two fish. In fact, these two fish held no significance for me; I couldn’t read the Manchu script, so even if I looked at them, I wouldn’t understand. However, if I handed them over to them, it felt very inappropriate.

Panzi was staring at the mural, talking to himself. The person depicted in the mural might be the King of Wannu, looking quite human and seemingly not a monster. The Fatty patted him and said to the monk Hua, “Scarface, what are you trying to decipher? We’re practical people; let’s not get into that intellectual stuff. When the coffin opens, it’s clear whether it’s a person or a dog.”

Hua the monk smiled and said, “What I mean is, knowing oneself and knowing the enemy is always better.”

“But why would the person who painted this mural want to depict these things here?” the Fatty asked. “Is it to remember national grievances and family hatreds?”

Hua the monk shook his head, clearly not knowing either. I thought for a moment and said, “It’s possible they wanted to create a mural here and then take the stone block down, or maybe they simply painted it to pass the time. Look, it’s so warm here; perhaps the craftsmen used this place to rest.”

No one was convinced by my reasoning, and Hua the monk started taking pictures of these things for documentation.

After we had rested enough and our spirits gradually recovered, we began to take turns resting. Chen Pi A Si had his men take turns staying outside. If the snow stopped, they would come back in and call us, while we started to take turns sleeping.

When I woke up, Shunzi had also regained consciousness and was repeatedly apologizing to us. The Fatty couldn’t be bothered to respond. I gave him something to eat and told him to rest well since we still needed him to continue onward.

Inside, there was no cycle of day and night, and I had no idea how much time had passed—perhaps two to three days. Finally, the snow stopped, and we crawled out of the crevice one by one. Outside, the sky had cleared, revealing a vast white world.

In the crevice, Chen Pi A Si taught us many little tricks for the snowy mountains, such as using sanitary pads as insoles to absorb foot sweat, keeping our feet dry, which would keep the whole body warm. Following his method worked quite well. However, I felt a bit awkward thinking about what would happen if we entered an ancient tomb and discarded these items. Years later, when an archaeological team discovered them beside the coffin, I could only imagine their expressions.

We climbed up the steep slope with the rope as it rolled down, and there were quite a few fresh hoofprints on the ground. The fat guy squatted down to take a look and said, “It seems that An Ning and his group have surpassed us and gotten ahead.”

Without saying a word, we put on our goggles and set off immediately. Two hours later, we reached a hillside and saw An Ning’s team. They had clearly suffered significant losses; out of thirty people, only about twenty remained, and they had only half the number of horses, with no sign of Uncle San.

We quietly concealed ourselves and observed them. I noticed An Ning was gazing through binoculars in one direction. I looked in the same direction and suddenly felt a jolt in my eyelids.

In the distance, shrouded in what seemed to be snow mist or clouds, stood a snow-capped mountain, towering majestically and blending into the surrounding peaks while also appearing very distinct. It was the same mountain I had seen in the underwater tomb; its shape was almost identical to that in the shadowy painting.

“This is it,” I thought to myself, pointing at the mountain. I turned to Shun Zi and asked, “What mountain is that? How can we get there?”

Shun Zi shielded his eyes with his hand, looked over, and changed color as he said, “So you want to go there? You can’t go there!”